


A Good Man

by lordclover



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Medium Honor Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:08:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordclover/pseuds/lordclover
Summary: Arthur's luck has run out and he's finally faced with the fact he isn't a good man. He knows this as he stares at two graves, both adorned with old flowers. When he gets back to camp, he realizes someone else might not be a good man either...





	1. Two Graves

Once in Arthur’s life he’d thought he was a good man. Sure, he held a gun to people’s heads, but they helped folks. Brought the money back to the poor, people that were beaten and unable to win… now he knew he was not a good man.

He stood alone on the hill, his only companion his horse, Boadicea . He wasn’t sure how long he stood there. Time didn’t feel real then, it trudged on without him, leaving him behind. He felt hollow, unable to process the information before him.

His trips here had grown far and few between in the past year. He felt bad about it, promised himself he’d make a point to visit more once they managed to get more money. He wanted to bring back something good, set them up real good… but that never came. He kept on ridin’ alongside everyone else, shootin’ and runnin’ wild. Nothin’ could hold them back, they’d been unstoppable…

If only he knew they’d needed him.

If he had known, he would’ve come. Would’ve rode day and night to defend them… but that ain’t how life works. Don’t get second chances and don’t much warning. Things happen and you can’t undo it.

The sun began to set, casting his shadow onto the two graves. He’d been gone so long that he didn’t even get to bury them. Someone else had. Made them twin crosses as well, their names carved into a plate mounted to each. Old flowers sat on each grave, indicating he’d been the only recent visitor.

How long had it been? When was his last visit?

He hadn’t visited since the new camp, must've been… months. They could’ve been dead for weeks and he wouldn’t have known.

He felt weighed down then, by a force he couldn’t describe. He put his hat back onto his head and walked back towards Boadicea . Her ears flicked as she heard him approach and she looked up.

“C’mon, girl,” Arthur said quietly.

He hauled himself up onto the saddle, his gaze flickering back to the graves briefly. He'd to prove himself, do somethin' good... yet here he was. They'd been robbed for nothin'. He'd reached the house first, didn't see the graves in the backyard. Arthur had knocked and after not getting a response he tried the door and it swung open to reveal the house torn a part, belongings strewn about, valuables missing, blood staining the floorboards... Some part of him had been foolish enough to hope it was someone else's blood, clung to that idea as he rushed through the house, only to see the graves. 

Arthur sighed heavily. He guided Boadicea away from the two graves. Boadicea fell into a slow trot away from the house. She continued on towards the road without much guidance from Arthur.

His gaze was distant, unable to focus on anything. He was trapped in a fog that blinded him from the world around him, his heart heavy.

Somehow, he felt less then human. A husk.

He’d promised himself he’d be a better man than his own father. Promised himself he’d do right by them; he just needed more money to do it. Turns out his promises to himself was as empty as the promises he made to them.

He was just like him, ain’t no seein’ past it then.

He'd done the same damned thing his father had. Ran off to get a new wanted poster, unaware to what was happening to his own family. Arthur wondered then if Isaac had lived... would he have felt the same fury Arthur had? Would he watch Arthur be hanged and be vindicated? 'Course... that would never happen now, he couldn't even give that to him. 

Eventually night fell around them, casting the world into shadows. The moon glimmered brightly over the plains; stars shimmered around them. It was quiet, not a creature dared make a sound. 

Boadicea continued down the path, slowing down to a walk. They reached a fork in the road and without guidance Boadicea continued on. It was rare Arthur ever let go of control, he always directed her. She continued on without him, just as the world around them.

A stranger rode past and Arthur was struck by a flash of anger as the man passed. He glared at the man as he passed. For a moment it looked like the man would say something, but the words died in his throat as he noticed Arthur’s expression. He passed quickly, spurring on his horse. Rightfully so, if the man had said the wrong thing there was a strong possibility Arthur would’ve shot him.

That was the one thing Arthur was good at, shootin’ folks. Could’ve defended them if he had been there. That’s why he was good at it, he was supposed to use it to do something good in this fucked up world. Maybe that was just an excuse.

At one point it’d been true, he’d wanted to do right.

What a _fool_ he was, blinded by his own arrogance. He couldn’t understand how he ever thought it’d work; how naïve he’d been. A boy needed a father, someone to guide him, protect him.

He glared at the ground, his anger building, overwhelming him.

If he wasn’t careful, he’d do something stupid. 

They continued on through the night, until finally Arthur decided it was time to find a place to camp for the night. He finally took control, no longer letting the reins sit limp in his hands. Boadicea followed his guidance instantly and headed off of the road.

He set up camp in a valley, well aware the smoke given off by his campfire could prompt unwanted visitors. He welcomed it; he was waiting for someone to give him an excuse to shoot them. No one offered any and Arthur didn’t go lookin’ for trouble. Not that he didn’t want to. It took a lot of willpower to keep himself from hunting for it, searchin’ the night for anything it had to offer.

He took in a deep breath and released it slowly, closing his eyes. He took his hat off of his head, running a hand through his hair. He stared at the hat in his hand, his disdain growing. Without thought, he discarded it, tossing it away from him. It tumbled to the ground, the fire’s light flickering off of it. He glared at the hat with narrowed eyes, as if it was the perpetrator.

As the night continued on, Arthur made no movement to leave his spot by the fire. Instead he stared at the flickering flames, watching as the smoke danced through the air, embers flickering. The fire devoured all of the firewood and slowly the flame died down. With it, his anger dispersed. As it left, Arthur was left only with his regret.

A feeling he was growing more and more accustomed to.

A good man.

That was what he promised himself to be, a good man. Never a great man, he knew he could never be that, but he’d truly believed he could be a good man. One worthy of a family, of a good life…. but good things didn’t happen to bad people. He had plenty of blood on his hands to prove himself… now including his own son’s.

It was a staggering thought; he’d let his son die. Been out giving the world hell, and the world got back at him.

Life dragged on, yet Arthur remained solitary. Days passed, the sun traveled overhead, as he remained. The deer in the area were easy prey, even for a poor hunter. Just one had been plenty of food for him. He stored what he had remaining, planning to bring it back to camp.

It took a while, but Arthur managed to force himself to move on. He packed up his camp, put his hat back on, and they started off again. He found his bearings once they reached the road, and he led them back towards the gang’s camp. Boadicea didn’t need much guidance, her hooves knew the way. They’d been at this camp for nearly three months already, the land had been kind to them. It had felt like a blessing.

He passed a few people on the road, but his anger had long since left. He simply felt empty. It was strange. The last time he’d felt this was after his ma died, but his anger had filled him for months after. Now… well he had no one to blame but himself. If he had been there, he could have stopped it. This was on him.

As they reached camp, Mac greeted him gruffly. Arthur simply nodded his head, unable to force any words. He brought Boadicea over to the other horses and tended to her, brushing her and feeding her.

“You did good, girl,” Arthur muttered, his voice heavy and low.

Boadicea's ear flicked in acknowledgement of his words.

Arthur sighed and looked around the camp. He saw Bill and Davey at one of the tables, playing some game with a knife. He could see Abigail’s figure, hunched over and shaking, as if she were crying. Arthur frowned and rose to his feet, his gaze hunting for Jack. He started towards her tent, his heart dropping.

Where was _Jack_?

He stopped in his tracks as he spotted the infant in Hosea’s arms. Arthur frowned uncertainly, his gaze searching for John. He didn’t see him anywhere.

“Arthur,” Dutch’s voice called. “Where’ve you been, son?”

He said the word son as if it were a demand, a reminder of sorts. Arthur stared at him. Where’d he been? Since when did that matter? He’d been gone… well he didn’t know exactly. No more than two weeks, and no less than three days.

“Out,” Arthur grumbled. “Where’s John?”

“John’s gone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was thinking about why Arthur was so mad at John for leaving and there are a lot of reasons, but I thought what if it happened at the worst point in Arthur's life? John and Arthur are like brothers, I honestly couldn't see Arthur keeping the death of his son from John unless something happened. Arthur's definitely a more closed off person, but I guess I'm a sucker for found family dynamics. I have an idea for another few chapters, would anyone be interested if I continued this? I have one good line in mind for a future one c':


	2. Looking for a Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's returned to camp and trying to figure out what to do with himself

“Gone?” Arthur repeated with a frown.

John was gone a lot, this ain’t news. He spent plenty of time out of camp, but it had been increasing ever since Jack was born. Arthur just figured he was anxious about his new role in life and was tryin’ to find trouble to cope. John had a real strange way of dealin’ with things, he supposed they all did. John and him were practically raised in a gang, they didn’t quite know the proper way to react. John’s solution was often to ignore problems until he couldn’t. That’s what he’d done with Abigail’s pregnancy, pretended it didn’t have nothin’ to do with him until he didn’t have a choice. They all knew Jack was John’s, there wasn’t no questioning it. John tried to deny it, took a lot of effort to get him to even visit Jack when he was born. Arthur practically had to throw him into the tent.

Arthur never could blame him for struggling to come to terms with it. He knew he had his own struggles when it came to…

A sharp pang tore through him, his heart feeling constricted.

“That’s what I said,” Dutch said, a sharp irritation in his voice. “Thought you’d gone and left us too.”

“I went huntin’,” Arthur said, trying his best to keep his voice level.

It wasn’t a lie, not really, he had been hunting, but… that wasn’t what kept him away.

“Son I need you now,” Dutch said. “With John leaving, the gang’s on edge. Doesn’t look good if two of our best are missing.”

“What’s goin’ on?” Arthur asked.

“John left,” Dutch said in frustration. “Hasn’t been seen in weeks.”

Weeks? That was strange, John always returned to the gang; he was like a stray cat. They’d fed him once and he kept followin’ them everywhere they went. He never left for long, he wasn’t good on his own, he relied on the gang for survival just as much as the gang relied on him.

“He ain’t comin’ back?” Arthur asked uncertainly.

“I don’t know,” Dutch said. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Bein’ a father was finally too much for him,” Bill said. “Old bastard up and ran. Not that I can blame him. Glad it ain’t me.”

Arthur cast Bill an irritated look but didn’t bother to respond to him. Bill wouldn’t know anything; he was usually the last person to learn anything. 

“Stay with me, son,” Dutch commanded. “We need you now, don’t leave us that long again.”

Arthur nodded uneasily. He wasn’t sure that was a promise he could keep, but he’d certainly try.

Naturally he was the one that was punished for John’s mistake, had to pick up the slack. That’s how it always went. Lucky John would start shit and let Arthur finish it. When he was younger, John had a nasty habit of picking fights with people twice his size. Arthur always had to step in, often resulting in him getting a black eye.

Dutch clapped a hand onto Arthur’s shoulder, his gaze locked with Arthur’s.

“I knew I could count on you,” Dutch said. “Always reliable, Arthur.”

Arthur watched as Dutch walked away. For a brief moment he’d worried that Dutch realized something was wrong, but that fear was fleeting. Arthur was good at closing off, keeping his emotions close in check… well mostly. His anger was harder to control, but that was allowed. He could get in brawls in camp and everything would be alright as long is it didn’t go too far.

He glanced around the camp and sighed. He spotted Uncle by the fire, leaning against one of the logs with his hat pulled over his head. Arthur frowned, his anger growing. He glared at him for a moment, before heading towards the supply cart. Naturally it hadn’t been unloaded. Arthur had a fair guess of who’d been sent to collect it, they’d done the bare minimum and only brought it back. Usually Grimshaw would get onto the gang members to do work, but he reckoned she was busy with John bein’ gone.

Arthur started to unload the cart, carrying sack by sack to Pearson’s wagon. He left them in a pile, before returning to the cart to get the hay off of it. He brought each bale over to a different feeding point. The horses took notice of this immediately and wandered over. Arthur looked over the horses, well aware Old Boy wouldn’t be among them. He couldn’t stop himself from checking, as if somehow John had slunk back into camp. Arthur wouldn’t put it past him.

John’d be back eventually.

Arthur ended up hunting down more work to do, trying to keep himself busy. He was worried if he stopped doing something, he’d lapse back into just sitting and staring. Nothing felt real, his movements felt sluggish, his arms heavy, his body not his own. His thoughts were focused purely on his task, he’d command himself to pick up the axe, chop the wood, pick up another piece, and repeat until nothing was left. By the time he was done his hands stung from the effort, rubbed raw from the work.

Distantly, Miss Grimshaw said something to him, but he couldn’t quite hear it through his fog. Once his task was finished, Arthur headed towards where the buckets would be. He could go to the river and fill them.

“What’s wrong with you?” Uncle’s voice called.

Arthur’s irritation grew. He glared down at Uncle as he passed him.

“Doin’ work, camp ain’t a vacation for some of us,” Arthur growled.

“I’m working,” Uncle protested.

Arthur scoffed.

“Don’t know why we ever kept you,” Arthur snapped. “You’re useless.”

“The hell happened to you?” Uncle asked. “You’re in a worse mood than usual.”

“John left,” Bill supplied. “Poor Arthur’s favorite robbing buddy ran away without him.”

“Shut up,” Arthur said. “Before I make you.”

He could smell the liquor off of Bill even from this distance. Bill usually wasn’t bad, but he was goddamn unbearable when he was drunk. Either he’d try and talk deep, something Bill couldn’t do to save his life, or he’d insult everyone near him. Sometimes Arthur wondered if he’d met Dutch later in life, if he’d have turned out like Bill. Without Hosea’s guidance he might’ve. He and Bill both had a fair temper, and neither were particularly bright. Arthur’s only intelligence came from Hosea.

Despite his threat, he wanted Bill to give him a reason to hit him. He held back from goading him on, knowing fully well he shouldn’t be causin’ a brawl with Abigail in distress, but he wouldn’t stop it from happening. Bill seemed to decide better of it and turned back to his table. He was playing poker with some of the rest of the gang and was losing, badly. He wasn’t good at it sober either, he couldn’t read people and lacked intelligence.

Arthur noticed each person at the table had a drink of some kind. He frowned. Why were they just lazing about? It was still early-

He realized then how dark it was in camp, that lanterns had already been lit. He looked around in surprise. Time had crept up on him again, eating away at the day. Regardless of it being late, Arthur began towards the river, bucket in hand.

“Arthur Morgan,” Miss Grimshaw said, her voice cutting through his daze. “Just what are you doing?”

He looked over at her with a frown.

“Workin’,” Arthur said gruffly.

“Don’t bother getting anymore this late,” Miss Grimshaw said. “You’re wasting time doing that.”

That’s exactly what he wanted to do, waste time. Dutch had told him to stay at camp, he had to do something to keep himself from… thinking.

He took another step towards the camp’s edge, but Miss Grimshaw’s glare caused him to stop again. He sighed and retreated back, and she shook her head.

“I swear,” she muttered. “This camp would fall a part without me.”

Arthur brought the bucket back to its place reluctantly. He knew she was right, if he got more water, he’d just have to dump it in the morning and get more. Without anything to do, Arthur was lost. He wanted to leave, wander off until he had no choice but to stop. Dutch’s words rang in his mind, trapping him camp.

Arthur sat down at the campfire. Arthur stared at the fire, letting the numbness settle into him again. He could’ve remained there for hours in silence, but eventually others settled around him. Javier sat across from him with the Calendar boys, talking loudly about their latest robbery. Uncle wandered over and sat down near Arthur.

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Uncle said.

“I don’t want to hear what you’ve been thinking,” Arthur growled.

Uncle studied him and Arthur hated the look in his eyes. It was as if he could see through him. Arthur glared at him for a moment, before letting his gaze slide back to the fire.

“What’s got you all riled up?” Uncle asked.

“I ain’t riled up, you keep going and we’ll see,” Arthur said coldly.

Uncle frowned at him.

“You sure are a cheery one,” Uncle scoffed.

“Consider yourself lucky-“Davey began with a chuckle.

“Lucky?” Arthur repeated, his voice taking a dangerous tone.

Davey’s expression dropped as his eyes narrowed.

“Great, you’re in a mood,” Mac said with a scowl.

“You really want to test me?” Arthur asked.

“Maybe,” Mac said.

“Never been a smart one, have ya? I reckon the pair of you share half a brain,” Arthur grumbled.

“Yeah?” Davey snarled.

“What’s with you?” Javier asked. “Someone piss in your drink?”

“Any of you seen Bill?” Karen asked. “It’s his turn to take guard, but the lazy bastard’s hiding.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Arthur said.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Karen said. “I need a drink.”

Arthur stood up and Karen took his place by the fire. His gaze went to where Bill had been, but he was no longer at the table. Arthur started across the camp, heading for Bill’s tent. He found Bill asleep on his bed. Arthur’s frown deepened.

“What the hell are you doing?” Arthur demanded.

“What?” Bill asked groggily. “Go away, Morgan.”

“Drank too much?” Arthur simpered. “Your turn to watch the entrance.”

“Ain’t no one comin’,” Bill grumbled. “You should do it, you’re already sulkin’ around waitin’ for John enough-“

Arthur kicked Bill roughly and Bill groaned.

“What the hell?!” Bill demanded.

“Get off your lazy ass,” Arthur snapped. “We ain’t keepin’ you around to drink this place dry.”

“Alright, alright,” Bill said. “I’m goin’.”

Arthur waited for Bill to get up and Bill scowled.

“You gonna watch me the whole time?” Bill asked.

“Apparently you need someone too,” Arthur grumbled. “Thought Jack was the only kid in camp we had to watch.”

“Shut up,” Bill huffed.

He got to his feet and picked up his rifle. Arthur watched as Bill stumbled off towards the front of camp.

“Don’t shoot your foot,” Arthur grumbled.

Arthur walked over to his own tent and sat down on his cot. He pulled his hat off of his head, running a hand through his hair. He took in a deep breath and released it with a shudder. What was he doing? He was lucky he hadn’t gotten hit.

He got back up and grabbed a drink, taking a long drink. It stung his throat, a welcome distraction. He glanced at the bottle to see he’d grabbed whiskey.

“Arthur, sit with us,” Dutch called.

Arthur looked over to see Dutch sitting at a table with Hosea. He obediently walked over and took a seat.

“Evening, Arthur,” Hosea greeted. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Arthur took another drink from his whiskey. 

“Yeah,” Arthur muttered.

Hosea studied Arthur with a thoughtful frown.

“What have you been up to?” Hosea asked.

“Nothin’.”

That was true. He hadn’t done anything, unable to fully comprehend what was happening around him. The fog that had surrounded him cleared some, leaving a heavy weight on his heart.

“You did a good job today,” Hosea said. “Got a lot done.”

“Someone had to do it,” Arthur said tiredly.

“That’s the spirit we need around here,” Dutch said. “If everyone would pitch in more, everything would run smoother.”

“If we didn’t get shot at every day that’d help,” Arthur said.

Dutch frowned at Arthur.

“Our luck’s been down,” Dutch began. “But you need to have faith, things will turn around.”

Arthur wasn’t so sure about that. They’d been in a war with the O’Driscolls for years now. Couldn’t blame Dutch, but it felt as if it would never end. Arthur hated the O’Driscolls just as much as the rest of them, but right then it seemed pointless. He’d been busy running around with the gang, fighting O’Driscolls, robbin’ folks, while his son was murdered.

“What’s wrong?” Hosea asked.

“Maybe John was right to run,” Arthur said lowly.

“Arthur,” Dutch said sternly.

“Sorry,” Arthur said with a sigh.

Dutch was right, he had a plan to get them out of this. They just needed enough money to buy some land and they’d be set. They could handle the O’Driscolls. He trusted Dutch, they’d figure this out.

“What’s gotten into you?” Dutch asked. “You just have to have a little faith.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment.

“Just been thinkin’ is all,” Arthur finally said. “You know this ain’t a good place for a kid is all… not on the run.”

“We won’t be on the run much longer,” Dutch said, his confidence enough to convince Arthur. “We just need some more money and we’ll buy some land, Arthur. I have a plan.”

“I know,” Arthur said.

He let his gaze slip across the camp tiredly. Just a week ago, he never thought about settling down. Now, it filled his mind. This wasn’t a way for any family to live, he’d learned that the hard way. His gaze settled on Abigail’s tent and he frowned. He wanted to tell John to get Jack out of here while he could, protect him and Abigail. Yet he’d already run off on them, abandoned them.

It was a painful thought and Arthur knew exactly why. John was making the same exact mistake he was. Yet Arthur would be here. He couldn’t save his own kid, but he sure as hell wouldn’t let Jack die too.

John had always been lucky.

Arthur was always there to fix his mistakes… but when Arthur messed up, there was no fixing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad that you guys are interested in this idea!! I'm excited to keep it going. I've always been very curious with how Arthur handled his grief and mourning period for his family and I'm excited to be able to write it c': 
> 
> Sorry if some of the gang seems out of character, I've honestly only written a few of them for more than like a few paragraphs ^^" I did some research while writing this chapter and I forgot how in depth rdr2 was with every single gang member with random dialogue you could encounter. I only got Bill's bad ones, so it was interesting to see all of the different ones he has good and bad. I also watched a lot of Arthur antagonizing videos and man he's brutal. I rarely ever antagonized people in my run, but I might have to try it out to hear all of it(especially the greet, greet, antagonize option) 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think so far!


	3. Picking Flowers

Arthur didn’t get nightmares often. His life was already enough of a nightmare, he figured there wasn’t much left for his sleep. Yet that night he found himself trapped in one. As a boy his nightmares were far worse, back then he didn’t realize they were nightmares. Now he had a better handle on it, he always seemed to be able to pull himself out of it. That night he couldn’t.

He could see a familiar house in the distance on top of a hill. It looked the same as the day he’d left it, the paint peeling, the door slightly crooked, the roof ragged, and the fence in desperate need of repairs. Without thought he started towards the house, dread filling him.

“Arthur,” A sharp voice called.

Arthur glanced back to see Dutch standing behind him, staring expectantly at him with a frown.

“Where are you going, _son_?”

Arthur paused, his eyebrows knitting together in thought. Where was he-

A gunshot rang out and Arthur whipped around to see the door busted in on the house. He stumbled towards it instantly, but the house seemed to move away from him with each step he took. H He looked around for Boadicea but couldn’t spot the gray Ardennes anywhere. He swore under his breath and continued on towards the house, reaching for his rifle.

He aimed it towards the house, focusing on the blurred figures moving around it. He was a damn good shot, but this rifle wasn’t made for long range and he knew it. Despite this, Arthur took the shot. Someone shouted his name behind him, but he ignored it and shot again.

Suddenly Eliza stood before him, a gunshot in her forehead. Blood pooled out the bullet wound, falling down her face as she opened her mouth to speak.

“You killed me,” she said, her voice a ghostly murmur.

He woke up with a start, his heart racing and his breathing rapid.

“Christ,” Arthur breathed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. Slowly he sat up, glancing around the camp. It was morning; he could see some sunlight spilling over the horizon. He sat for a while, unable to motivate himself to move.

All he could think of was them. Eliza’s words still rang in his head.

_You killed me. _

He may not have shot her, but he did kill her. Without him, she never would’ve been alone. Might’ve settled down with someone proper, someone that’d be there… someone that didn’t have a wanted poster.

Mary was right to end it.

It’d taken him a long time to realize it, but right then he knew she was right. They never would’ve worked out. She wanted more than he could ever offer, deserved more. 

He sighed and stood up. He picked up his hat from the crate beside his bed and put it on. He started to get ready for the day. Once he’d finished, he headed into camp. He wished the sun was further out, he wanted to feel the warmth of it against his skin. He needed something to remind him he was alive. Something to pull him out of this god forsaken daze. His mind didn’t feel clear, but he reckoned that might be for the best. Any thoughts he had, he tried to suppress.

Arthur walked towards the buckets he’d abandoned the day before and picked two up, before starting down towards the river.

“Morning, Arthur,” Karen said.

Arthur glanced over to see she was sitting at the table with Abigail. He hadn’t even noticed them.

“Mornin’,” Arthur said gruffly.

Karen gave him a pointed look, but Arthur ignored it. He continued on his way, doing his best to ignore their low whispers. He knew he should’ve stopped to talk with Abigail, try and reassure her everything would turn out alright, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t know much and wasn’t keen on making any promises he couldn’t keep.

He walked down towards the river, his gaze shifting around. He could see Javier on guard not far away, walking around. They’d found a decent spot to camp. It was too North for Arthur’s preferences, but it was a good place for the gang. North of them was a forest good for hunting and South was a town that was used to travelers. It was easy to defend as well; one side was backed against a canyon wall while the other overlooked a valley and the river.

He filled the two buckets and set them on the riverbank. He set his hands into the cold water, letting it run across his skin. He took some water in his hands and splashed his face. The coldness of the water stung him slightly, waking him up more. It did nothing to erase Eliza’s face from his mind, blood dripping down her forehead.

He rubbed at his eyes, staring blearily out. After a moment, he finally picked up both buckets and returned to camp. He walked slowly to keep the water from spilling out. Some still did, but most of it remained in bucket. There were more people awake as he returned, some wandering from their tents tiredly.

Arthur brought the buckets to the wash bins. He dumped out the old water and poured in the water he’d gotten. He set the buckets back under the table and searched the camp for something else to do. It was too early for any other chores to be available too him, he’d all the chores he could yesterday. There was more to do, he just had to hunt it-

“Arthur,” Abigail called.

She sounded tired; her voice quieter than it should be. Arthur winced and looked over at her. Her hair was messy, loose strands falling from her bun. She had bags under eyes that made it seem like she hadn’t slept in days. Maybe she hadn’t. Carinin’ for a baby wasn’t easy. John hadn’t helped much, but he’d done some. Hosea and miss Grimshaw helped the most. Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if Jack had started to call Hosea pa instead of John. He remembered hearing Abigail say Jack had said the word ma once or twice.

“Hey, Abigail,” Arthur said.

He walked over to her, unable to ignore her. Abigail was someone he’d known for a while, grown close with, one of the few people in the gang he’d readily call his friend.

“Did he say anything to you?” Abigail asked.

“John?” Arthur guessed. Abigail nodded. “No, he didn’t say nothin’.”

She sighed.

“I knew he wasn’t ready to be a father, but I never expected him to… leave,” Abigail said.

Arthur felt guilt strike through him as he remembered joking about John running when Jack was first born. He’d never even considered John actually doin’ it. They were a family… or at least were supposed to be. John didn’t just run out on Abigail and Jack; he’d left them all. Arthur had always thought John’s bond with the gang was too strong for him to just leave. Arthur had thought John would come around to Jack once the shock had worn off, and for a little while he had. Arthur remembered seeing Jack in John’s arms, only a couple months old. The look in John’s eyes had made him think he’d finally accepted Jack as his own.

“Neither did I,” Arthur muttered.

“Do you… think he will come back?”

“Want him too?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know,” Abigail admitted, and Arthur could hear the frustration in her voice. “Some part of me misses him and the other part wants to shoot him.”

“John’s real good at makin’ people feel that way,” Arthur said.

He studied Abigail as her gaze flickered away from him. A distant look settled in her eyes.

“I’m real sorry, Abigail,” Arthur sighed. “You deserved better.”

“We all deserve better… except maybe Bill,” Abigail said.

Arthur smiled slightly.

“Where’s Jack?” Arthur asked after a moment.

“Hosea is watching him, giving me a moment to breathe,” Abigail said.

Arthur swallowed uneasily. He hadn’t realized how difficult it was to have a baby until Abigail had Jack. Arthur wished he could’ve been there more for Eliza… helped more.

He had a lot of regrets and not a lot of solutions.

“You should get some rest,” Arthur said.

Abigail nodded.

“Yes… I think I’ll try and lie down, before the camp is too awake,” Abigail said. “Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded, uncertain what she was even thanking him for. He’d been gone for a while.

As if she’d read his mind, she said, “For coming back.”

Arthur spent the rest of the morning on his own, sitting at the campfire with his journal in his lap. He hadn’t written in it for a long time. His last entry had been a sketch of some plants he’d found. It felt almost wrong to write on the other page about… well everything that had happened. He ended up skipping the page and continuing on a new spread. He stared at the blank piece of paper for a moment, finally letting his thoughts go. For a moment his mind was empty, but slowly and cautiously they crept back as they had been. He began to draw the graves on the hill with the house in the background, letting himself relive everything for a moment. Once he finished it, he wrote on the page next to it, recounting everything that had happened. Seeing it written made it seem real.

Eliza and Isaac were dead.

He continued onto the next pages, drawing Eliza as he’d seen her in his dream. Below her he etched the words that had been haunting him all day. _You killed me. _

There wasn’t any denying it, he knew there wasn’t.

It was a cathartic experience writing everything down. It marked the point where he’d have to move on. He’d hoped this would purge his thoughts and feelings… Hosea had always told him that writing would clear his mind. Sometimes… it worked. It’d definitely helped him when he was younger, calmed him down some. He’d always had a bad temper. Getting a handle on it wasn’t easy… if he was honest, he still struggled with it.

He sighed. He flipped the page and stared down the empty page with an accusatory glare. Without hesitation he continued on, describing John’s disappearance and how the gang reacted. Just as he’d reached the third sentence, he heard Hosea call him.

“Arthur,” Hosea said 

“Yeah?” Arthur asked.

He stood up and slipped his journal into his bag, searching for Hosea. He spotted him not far away, standing with Jack in his arms. Arthur studied Jack with an uncertain frown before approaching Hosea. Hosea looked tired and older than normal, his hair somehow seemed grayer. 

“Would you do me a favor?” Hosea asked.

“’Course,” Arthur said.

“Watch Jack for a little bit,” Hosea said. “I need to go with Dutch, and Abigail is finally getting some rest.”

“Can’t miss Grimshaw-“

“We’ve all done our fair share, Arthur,” Hosea interrupted. “Just sit with him is all I’m asking.”

“Alright,” Arthur relented.

“Thank you,” Hosea said. “I will be back soon enough.”

Jack looked up at Arthur as Hosea handed him of. Arthur stared at Jack for a moment.

“Scared of a toddler?” Hosea asked.

“Not exactly,” Arthur mumbled.

He accepted Jack from Hosea, part of him expecting Jack to immediately start crying. He didn’t. Instead he watched Arthur with wide curious eyes.

“Look at that, he remembers you,” Hosea chuckled. “Been a while since you’ve watched him.”

“Reckon so.”

“Be good to him,” Hosea said. “Try not to bother Abigail if you can.”

“Okay,” Arthur said.

Hosea smiled at him, amusement flickering in his eyes. Arthur watched as he walked off towards the horses. Jack said something, or rather babbled something that was supposed to be a word. Arthur looked down at him.

“Thought your ma said you could talk some,” Arthur said.

“Mama, ma,” Jack repeated.

Arthur smiled slightly.

“That ain’t really talkin’,” Arthur commented.

Jack didn’t seem to care, but instead reached for the bandana around Arthur’s neck. He tugged on it. 

Arthur glanced at where he had been sitting and figured that was no longer a good spot, not with the fire. He settled beneath one of the few trees around the outskirts of their camp. He sat down and set Jack beside him. Jack stared at him expectantly.

“Sorry, kid,” Arthur said. “I know I ain’t much fun to be stuck with.”

“Mamama,” Jack mumbled.

“She’s sleepin’,” Arthur said. “Let her rest some, would ya? I know you ain’t tired, but she sure is… and your pa… God knows where he ran off to.”

Jack stared at Arthur curiously, watching as he spoke.

“How much do you understand, kid?” Arthur asked. “Not much, I reckon.”

Jack babbled something incoherently and Arthur chuckled softly.

“That’s what I figured.”

Arthur glanced around the camp to see Bill and Javier talking, Mac and Davey at the campfire, and Karen on patrol.

“Think I could convince Karen to change jobs with me?” Arthur asked Jack.

Jack stared up at Arthur.

“Yeah, Hosea wouldn’t like that, would he?”

Jack spoke again, but Arthur couldn’t distinguish anything resembling a word.

“You ain’t good at talkin’,” Arthur decided. “Neither am I.”

Arthur picked at the grass, before plucking a small weed that looked almost like a flower. Jack held out his pudgy hands and Arthur obediently held it to him. Jack studied the weed, holding with both hands. He opened his mouth and moved it closer and Arthur instantly stopped him. Jack protested with a whine and Arthur shook his head.

“What? They ain’t feedin’ you?” Arthur asked.

Jack shook his head, copying what Arthur had done. He babbled something and Arthur smiled for a brief moment, but it quickly faded. He took in a deep breath and watched as Jack picked another flower.

“Christ,” Arthur murmured.

He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them, Jack was staring at him.

“You know I had a kid once,” Arthur said quietly. “Real cute like you.”

“Mamama,” Jack said as he set the weed on Arthur’s leg.

“Yep, he had a ma too,” Arthur said. “They ain’t around no more.”

Jack set the second weed onto Arthur’s leg carefully. Jack smiled and made an excited noise, waving his arms.

“Look at chu,” Arthur chuckled. “Real pleased with yourself.”

Jack put his little hands onto Arthur’s leg and he quivered as he stood up. He let go of Arthur’s legs and stood unsupported for a moment. Arthur watched, mildly impressed. Isaac hadn’t been able to do that until he was… well Eliza said it was after he could say ma and pa without it being slurred. Jack quivered as he took a step forward and immediately leaned on Arthur’s leg again. As Jack stood up and the sunlight fell onto his head, his hair seemed lighter, making him look all too much like Isaac. Arthur blinked and shook his head and Jack had moved out of the sunlight to climb onto Arthur’s lap.

Arthur grimaced. He couldn’t let himself fall back into that daze. He refused. He suppressed his emotions the best he could as Jack crawled across Arthur’s lap to get to the patch of weeds he was sitting beside. Jack sat on Arthur’s leg, leaning down to pluck a small flower hidden among the weeds. He held it up to Arthur, his eyes shining bright with excitement.

Jack babbled for a moment, but Arthur heard a distinct word. _Pa. _He winced, his heart falling. He couldn’t help be brought back to years before when he’d sat with his own son. Arthur had been trying to read him a book, but Isaac had been uninterested, instead decided to play with the button’s on Arthur’s shirt. Arthur read a word, parlor, and Isaac attempted to repeat it.

“Pa-pa,” Isaac had fumbled.

He’d frowned, his eyebrows scrunching together.

“That’s right,” Arthur had said. “I’m your pa.”

Arthur grimaced and wiped at his eyes.

“Pa… pa,” Jack repeated as if he was testing the word.

He stared up at Arthur.

“I ain’t your pa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i've never written a toddler and I'm sorry if that's obvious ^^" I definitely enjoyed writing Jack/Arthur's interactions bc my hearrrt  
I remember a line in RDR2 where Abigail mentioned Jack liking Arthur (before the fishing trip) and I love the idea that Arthur did act as a father towards Jack in a way. The whole gang of course helped Abigail, but I think Arthur being close to John/Abigail would lead to Arthur helping out more in the beginning and it's a hard role to step back from once John leaves bc Abigail does need help. I imagine (which when I get there I'll go more in depth) that when John returns Arthur steps back from that role for a lot of reasons and Jack misses him. Which would lead to some more tension between Arthur/John and aid in that argument they had during the sheep herding mission   
idk just thinking about it makes me excited to expand upon this more!


	4. Moving On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be real I feel real bad for doing this to Arthur but at the same time I have to do it to him  
I love the idea of all of this added tension and drama we never get to see between Arthur/John and God I wish we could've seen Arthur go through this!! I really wanted DLC of the year John was gone and Arthur's reaction when John came back... but since rockstar confirmed no single player DLC for RDR2 guess I'll have to make it myself lol

Arthur’s week had progressed slowly. He felt stuck in time. Each day he’d do what chores he could find, work until he could hardly feel his hands. Some days he’d go out hunting, never far from camp. Boadicea was starting to get fed up. She wasn’t used to stayin’ put this long and Arthur couldn’t blame her. He usually didn’t spend this much time in camp, he was always out working. He couldn’t force himself to go back to it, each time he’d thought about it his mind lapsed back to things he didn’t want to think about.

They’d been killed by house robbers.

Often times he was a house robber. Someone like him had done this.

For the most part, the gang left him alone. Hosea and Abigail were always busy, talkin’, and takin’ care of Jack. Arthur counted himself lucky for that. They were both real good at reading him, better than he’d care to admit. Usually it only took one look for them to know something was up.

This… well this gave Arthur the time he needed to adjust. Life should’a just moved on. Only difference, he wouldn’t stop by the house anymore.

He wanted to make it as simple as that, but each time he tried he felt a sharp pain strike through him. His son had died, and he hadn’t been around enough to save him. He’d never mentioned Isaac to anyone in the gang, he’d always kept it quiet. He didn’t tell Hosea because he didn’t want him to look at him differently… now how would he look at him? If he admitted he’d let his own son die? 

He knew exactly what Hosea would have said back then, that he should be there for him. When Isaac had been born, Arthur wasn’t ready to give up his life of train robberies. Eliza knew it and she never asked him to. Didn’t even ask him for money. ‘Course Arthur wasn’t going to leave them with nothin’. A part of him always wanted a family, but… the gang _was_ family then. He was realizing too late that his priorities were skewed. The gang always came first… before his own son.

He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, but this was by far the worst. It haunted him, weighing him down like nothin’ else ever had. He’d killed… more people than he could count, but this… their lives stained his hands darker than any other.

He should have-

“There he is, our English man!” Sean said, tearing through Arthur’s thoughts.

Arthur glanced over at Sean, anger flashing through his eyes.

“Be quiet, boy,” Arthur said. “You’re irritating me.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” Sean chuckled. “You’re a sorry sight, aren’t you?”

Arthur supposed he was.

“Miss ol’ John that much, do ya?” Sean asked.

Arthur stood up as Sean sat across from him.

“Oh, where you goin’?” Sean asked. “Ain’t I good enough company?”

Arthur ignored him and stalked off.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sean asked. “He usually loves my jokes!”

That was hardly true. Sean liked to be as annoying as humanly possible, he kept poking and prodding at everyone in the gang. He’d nearly gotten cut my Javier once or twice, but Arthur had stepped in. Sean reminded him a lot of John, when John was younger. He really didn’t need another annoying bastard in his life- well… now John was gone they had plenty of room.

Arthur spotted an empty seat by the campfire and started towards it.

“Arthur, over here,” Javier called.

Arthur glanced over to see Bill, Javier, and Davey all gathered around one of the tables. Arthur approached them slowly.

“What?” Arthur asked, his voice a low rumbling growl.

“We’re plannin’ a home robbery,” Davey said. “Real good one too, Tilly heard about it in town.”

“And?” Arthur asked.

“And we’re offerin’ you a cut,” Javier said. “We could use an extra gun, just in case. It’s a big estate, plenty of guards, but there’s a back entrance we can sneak through-“

“I ain’t interested,” Arthur grumbled.

“What?” Davey asked with a frown. “Here I thought you’d shoot us if we didn’t let you in. This one right here’ll be our retirement, boys.”

“Good luck with that,” Arthur said.

“I bet if John was goin’ he’d want in,” Bill grumbled. “The two golden boys.”

“Shut up, Bill,” Arthur snapped. “You ain’t know nothin’.”

“Don’t I?” Bill asked heatedly. “John’s everyone’s favorite! Well guess he ain’t now, bastard’s run off on his little brat-“

“Now you’re beginning to irritate me,” Arthur said. “Say anything bad about Jack again and I’ll be sure it’s you who’s runnin’ from this gang.”

Bill stared at Arthur uneasily, trying to figure out if Arthur was being serious or not. Arthur threated a lot, but this one he planned to maintain. Arthur glared Bill down and Bill’s gaze wavered, flickering to Javier and Davey, but neither of them offered any help.

“Whatever,” Bill decided. “We don’t need him-“

“We could use the cover,” Javier said. “We’ve already done the work, Arthur. Just need you to go with us. It’ll be easy.”

“Since when do we convince people to go on jobs?” Bill scoffed. “He ain’t want it.”

“Just listen,” Javier said.

Arthur stared at the plans for a moment, before sighing and walking over. Javier and Davey explained the plan to Arthur, they even had blueprints of the house. They’d done a thorough job studying the place, had every entrance marked. Apparently, Tilly had found a back way in that was in need of repairs.

By all means, it was the perfect place to rob. If they’d asked him a week ago, he would’ve said yes instantly. Hell, he’d be running the job. Now he wasn’t interested. They kept promising it was easy money, and each time he felt anger flicker through him. ‘Course it was easy money. They were robbin’ some house. He knew it wasn’t just that, it was an estate that was guarded, owned by a corrupt man. Yet Arthur couldn’t stop himself from imagining this was exactly what the robbers that had killed Isaac had said. _Easy money. _

“Well?” Davey asked with a lopsided smile, as if he already knew what Arthur was going to say.

“I ain’t interested,” Arthur said.

Davey’s smile fell and Javier said something lowly in Spanish.

“You’re on your own, fellers,” Arthur said. “Goodluck.”

Arthur turned away from them and had started to walk away when Bill spoke.

“Poor Arthur’s too lovesick to go robbin’-“

Instantaneously Arthur turned and closed the distance between them. He grabbed Bill’s shirt and before he could react, he hit him hard and planned to do it again. It was an instinct to hit him, he hadn’t even thought about it. He hit him twice and was about to hit him again, but someone grabbed his arm.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur!” Davey said. “He was just joking!”

“He ain’t funny,” Arthur snarled.

“He ain’t ever been funny,” Javier said. “Why is getting you riled now?”

“We gotta camp to take care of,” Arthur snapped. “John leavin’ ain’t a joke. As much as you don’t like it Bill, him leavin’ affects this camp. He ain’t like you, he helped out around camp. While you’re on your ass making jokes, the rest of us are trying to make up for that loss.”

Bill glared at Arthur. Arthur stared him down for a moment, before jerking his arm free from Davey.

“Grow up,” Arthur said lowly to Bill.

He released Bill’s shirt finally and let his gaze flicker across the group.

“Good luck,” Arthur said harshly before stalking off.

Once he was a safe distance from them, he heard low whispers. He’d been getting used to hearing whispers after he left. He’d been in a foul mood for days, not in the mood to entertain idiots. He stalked around the camp, anger prickling across his skin, before he finally settled at one of the campfires.

He was left alone for a while, long enough that his anger finally began to dissipate some. It reignited as he heard footsteps walking towards him. He glanced back with an accusatory glare only to see it was Hosea. Arthur looked forward; his gaze locked onto the fire.

“Heard you hit Bill,” Hosea commented.

He took a seat across from Hosea.

“He had it comin’,” Arthur growled.

“I am sure he did,” Hosea said. “I know this is hard, Arthur-“

His tone wasn’t meant to be demeaning, but it damn sure felt like it. It made his anger rise, his eyes flashing dangerous. This was _hard_? Damn right it was. Hardest thing he’d ever gone through. He’d been riddled with bullets before, nearly bleed out, but somehow this was far more painful than any other flesh wound. It was worse than everything Mary had said combined. The pain was sharp and unrelenting, crashing into him like a tidal wave anytime he let his guard down.

“What?” Hosea asked, well aware of the shift in Arthur’s posture.

Hosea had always been able to read Arthur easy. He’d raised him, alongside Dutch, but Arthur had always been closer to Hosea. John had been Dutch’s favorite and Arthur had been Hosea’s.

“Nothin’,” Arthur said lowly.

“Arthur,” Hosea said, his voice weary.

He looked old in the light of the fire. His wrinkles seemed deeper, his eyes ancient, his hair more silver than it had been the day before.

“Please,” Hosea said. “I know this is difficult-“ Arthur’s gaze narrowed. The change in wording hadn’t helped. “But I need you… to hold on for a little while longer. We need you.”

Arthur knew they did. He knew the entire gang needed him more than ever and he was… in mourning.

“I know,” Arthur sighed.

He rubbed at his eyes, his shoulders slumping. All of his pent up anger disappeared, leaving him hollow once again.

“I know,” he repeated.

“John… he is… he’ll be back,” Hosea said, seemingly unable to decide what John was.

“Do we even want him back?” Arthur huffed.

“Of course, we do,” Hosea said instantly. “He just needs time.”

Naturally John got time and Arthur got none. He had to move on and pretend everything was fine, pick up the pieces John had left behind. Course he did. Arthur always had to clean up his mess.

Hosea sighed and stood up.

“Try not to hit Bill anymore,” Hosea said. 

“I’ll try,” Arthur grumbled. “No promises.”

Hosea shook his head and walked away.

Arthur hated that he was doing this to Hosea. He knew Hosea was frustrated with him. He had plenty of people to worry about, Arthur shouldn’t be one of them. Abigail and Jack needed him… and the gang needed Arthur. He couldn’t keep going like this.

He pulled out his journal and slid out an envelope he had hidden among the pages. He flicked through each page that had been folded up, skimming over each letter and photo. Each letter started the same: _Dear Arthur, I hope you are well _ and ended with, _We are doing well, we can’t wait to see you next time. _There were some photos enclosed, varying in sizes. Three were of Isaac, one with Isaac and Eliza, and one of the three of them. Eliza had to drag him to get the photo done, telling him she just wanted one family photo. That was the first time she’d ever threatened him, told him if he didn’t take the damn photo then he might as well just leave. He’d cooperated and she’d had two photos made. One had sat on their mantle, the other remained with Arthur… it was the very same photo that had been tossed on the floor when the house was ransacked.

Arthur took in a deep breath and released it with a shudder.

Isaac and Eliza were gone.

All he had left was the gang… and the gang needed him then. They needed him to move on.

Piece by piece, Arthur tossed each photo and letter into the fire until he was only left with the family portrait. As each paper burned, he felt a strike of pain pulse through him. He watched as the final letter crumbled and he was left with the final photo. His hand held it tightly, shaking some. He stared at it, his gaze distant and his heart heavy.

He had to move on.

Slowly his hand moved back towards the fire, shaking as it did. He held it over, his hand still holding it tight. He needed to let go, but… he was fighting himself. He remained like that for a moment, until finally a flame from the fire flicked up and snatched the edge of the photo. A corner burned slowly, creeping across the photo, eating away at him slowly.

He waited until the flame had taken him out of it completely, before letting the photo drop into the fire. He watched as the photo was destroyed by the fire.

All that remained were the ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur’s got em cowboy coping mechanisms
> 
> I also had a different transition in mind at first I completely forgot about, so uhhh have a little snippet of it that I liked c': 
> 
> After a while Abigail came to take Jack. Jack presented her with a fistful of weeds he had collected. She accepted them with a smile, her eyes shimmering. She thanked Arthur for watching him, but Arthur didn’t know why. All he’d done was sit with the boy. Hadn't done anything worthy of praise.


	5. Picture Book

In a perfect world, Arthur would have moved on. It certainly was easier without the ability to read through the letters late at night. Now he simply laid awake, staring at the roof of his tent. Bugs chirped obnoxiously loud around him. It didn’t bug him before, but now it was infuriating. Every little convenience bothered him now. He’d never had a good handle on his anger, but it had gotten a lot worse in the past week.

To balance this, Arthur spent his time drunk when he wasn’t working. He knew it wasn’t a great solution, but damn it worked. Made him forget for a while and that was enough. Everyone in the camp learned his new routine and left him to it. During the day he’d work and when asked he’d sit with Jack, and as soon as the sun set, he’d drown out his thoughts and pray he’d finally drank enough to die.

Course that relief never came.

For a while this worked, but one night changed everything. He was sitting at one of the tables, a drink in hand, while staring off into space. He was alone, but he’d been spending most nights alone. People had tried to sit with him, but he’d been quick to scare them off. Bill had learned the hard way he wasn’t in a mood to be messed with.

The camp was quiet, besides the low hum of singing coming from one of the campfires. Most of the camp was gathered around it, enjoying their latest heist. If Arthur was in a better mood, he’d be celebrating with them. It had gone flawlessly, for once. Everything went as it should and the law didn’t show up until they were already long gone. Even Hosea and Dutch were celebrating, talking of the land they could buy. It sure seemed like Arthur was the only one not singing.

He sighed and stood up. Didn’t have much of a plan where to go, he just knew he needed to get out. He knew exactly why the gang was celebrating, but the singing had gotten to him. He wasn’t about to ruin their time, but he needed the singing to stop… or he needed to be drunk enough to ignore it, but neither of those were happening quick.

Arthur started towards the horses. The closest bar was in the same town they’d just robbed a feller, but he was beginning to think the risk was worth it. Maybe he’d get caught and they’d end his-

“Papa,” Jack babbled. 

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks to see Jack situated outside of Abigail’s tent. He peered into it to see Abigail asleep on the cot, her arm outstretched where Jack had been. Arthur frowned down at Jack.

“Your ma needs you, boy,” Arthur said.

“Papa,” Jack repeated.

Arthur grimaced and glanced around, looking for anyone else to deal with this. No one else was around and he wasn’t about to wake up Abigail. His gaze settled on Jack to see him staring up at him with wide eyes. Arthur huffed.

“Guess I’m your nursemaid,” Arthur growled lowly.

Jack cocked his head curiously. He babbled something in coherently at Arthur.

“I know, it ain’t fair,” Arthur agreed. “Sure you’d rather have Hosea, but you’re stuck with me tonight, kid. C’mon.”

Arthur walked over to Jack and leaned down to pick him up. Instantly Jack held his arms up towards Arthur excitedly. Arthur’s expression softened. He picked Jack up, surprised at how light he was. He hadn’t held Jack much, only sat with him in the past week, and had grown accustomed to the weight of the sacks Pearson ordered. His shoulders ached just at the thought.

Jack tugged on the bandana around Arthur’s neck, staring at it curiously.

“Ain’t been up to anything good lately,” Arthur admitted. “Got some money to keep you safe… maybe we’ll finally find somewhere to settle down, Jack. Somewhere you can run around freely. Get you a dog too. A boy needs a good dog.”

He’d had a dog long time ago. Copper had made everything with the gang easier somehow, made it feel more like a family. Now it was feeling painfully obvious this weren’t no family. John had proven that, up and leaving them without any warning. Dumb bastard. John was real lucky, but Arthur had always been around to save him when his luck ran out… now that he was on his own, there was no telling how long he’d survive.

Arthur sighed and settled back at the table. He set Jack on the ground and his beer on the table. He pulled his hat off of his head and set it on the table, watching as Jack began to tug at the grass.

“Got lucky tonight, didn’t ya?” Arthur asked. “Given me another hour and I wouldn’t have been in right mind to watch you.”

Jack stared up at Arthur with wide eyes, smiling stupidly. Arthur chuckled and shook his head.

“Maybe I got lucky,” Arthur admitted. “Can’t keep doin’ this…”

He didn’t want to spend a year drunk. They’d all done it at one point, hell Bill was still doing it. It was a miserable life, not something Arthur wanted. Hosea had gone through it with Bessy, Dutch with Annabelle, now… well now Arthur reckoned it was his turn. ‘Course John ruined that. If John were here, he could get mindlessly drunk for the year, forget everything. Without him, things got harder. Someone had to watch Jack and someone had to pick up the slack. That fell on Arthur. Hosea was too old, Dutch too busy, and that left him.

The singing grew louder, and Arthur looked up to see Mac and Sean stumbling across camp. Arthur stared at them with a frown and watched closely as they took a seat at one of the tables nearby. They began to play finger fillet, swearing as they did. Blood was quick to cover the table as they covered their fingers in small cuts, both to drunk and delirious to be any good.

Jack stood up, his legs quivering under him, and stared at the two. He took a step towards them and Arthur instantly stood up. He picked Jack up and Jack protested. Arthur ignored him and grabbed his hat, putting it on his head. Jack reached towards Sean and Sean laughed.

“Ay look at the little sprout! Already eager for some bloodshed, eh?” Sean laughed.

“He knows you’re the camp joke, Sean,” Arthur scoffed. “Just lookin’ for a good laugh.”

“Good laugh, am I?” Sean asked angrily.

He stood up,, puffing his chest out, but immediately shrank under Arthur’s glare.

“Don’t go lookin’ for trouble, boy,” Arthur said. “You’ll wake up missing more than fingers if you do.”

Sean stared at Arthur for a moment, before laughing uneasily. Arthur turned away from him, making his way to his own tent. Jack tugged at his bandana again.

“Don’t worry ‘bout them,” Arthur said. “Just a pair of idiots.”

As he reached his tent, he set Jack down on the floor again and sat down on his cot. He took off his gun belt and tucked it away in his trunk with his hunting knife. That should be safe from Jack. Jack stood up and wobbled towards Arthur, nearly falling as he reached him. Jack caught himself on Arthur’s legs, using his little hands to steady himself.

“Lotta trouble, ain’t you?” Arthur mused.

Jack stared up at Arthur, looking far too energetic for how tired Arthur felt.

“Christ how does Abigail do it?” Arthur asked. “You never tire, do ya?”

Jack babbled in coherently, reaching up towards Arthur. Arthur obediently picked him up, setting Jack down beside him. Instantly Jack climbed into lap and stared up at him expectantly.

“What? I ain’t the camp jester,” Arthur scoffed.

Jack stared at him and Arthur groaned.

“Hold on then,” Arthur said.

He set Jack back down on the cot and stood up, walking over to his end table. He looked down at it for anything entertaining and felt a fresh strike of pain as his eyes settled on a book. He’d gotten it for Isaac a few towns back. Isaac had gotten real good at readin’, Arthur had been sure he’d be better than him pretty soon. Eliza had said he went through books quickly and she was going insane rereading the same one to him.

“Baba,” Jack said.

Arthur sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. He picked up the book and returned to Jack. Jack stared at it curiously, reaching out for it. Arthur opened it up and Jack stared at it with wide eyes.

“Little advanced for ya, I reckon,” Arthur said.

Jack didn’t seem to mind, but instead reached out to the book. He ran his hand over the outline of a horse drawing on the inside cover, entranced by it. Arthur smiled slightly.

“That’s a horse there,” Arthur said. “Got many in camp.”

Jack studied each of the drawings, before letting Arthur turn the page. He began to read it to Jack, stopping often to let Jack thoroughly investigate the small pictures in between the breaks of paragraphs. Jack seemed amused enough and began to settle down. At some point or another, Jack finally fell asleep. Despite his lack of an audience, Arthur continued to read by the lantern’s light. He’d glance down at Jack, and the pain he’d felt for weeks dissolved some. He wasn’t Isaac, he never would be, but for a moment Arthur felt close to his son again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is so short after a long wait! I had a really hard time deciding what I wanted to happen next/where this fic would end, but I think I have a plan finally! We'll get out of camp next chapter I promise :) 
> 
> a familiar face will also join the gang next chapter


End file.
